


Best Served Over Ice

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: Hockey RPF One-Shots [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2008-15 NHL Seasons, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, and also hockey trash, apparently i am soulmate trope trash, i swore i would never write rps but whoops, much hockey little plot, with extra cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.
a.k.a. 'scenes upon which Claude Giroux, and, through him, the narrative, spent a ridiculous amount of time dwelling.'
Or: "Claude gets named captain. He stands in a sea of press with a new jersey on. The C burns black against the orange, black as the words on his skin, and for a moment he feels desperately, desperately alone."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the soulmate trope wherein your soulmate's first impression of you is written on you after they see you for the first time.
> 
> (Or, at least, the first time after you reach the age of majority.)

Flyers orange means a lot to Claude. Back when he was a little on the small side, going undrafted in Junior, he didn't really expect his NHL dream to come true. Even as he started getting noticed, making a case for himself, he still kinda figured he'd get drafted fifth round, spend his career in the AHL desperately trying to break through and constantly being overlooked.

Even though he ends up being drafted in the first round it still just confirms his fears - Bobby Clarke forgetting his name is exactly what he thought would happen all along. It makes him feel a little down on the entire organization before he even starts.

But he works hard and, even though he gets passed over for most of his first two seasons, he's up for good a little way into the third, and it's Flyers orange he's wearing when he's there, Flyers orange (well, white, but there's still orange on there) surrounding him when he scores his first NHL goal, Flyers orange that he hopes will be his whole career.

He's going to have to wear a lot of hats, though. His hair is emphatically _not_ Flyers orange.

\--

Just over a month past his 21st birthday, Claude plays the Pittsburgh Penguins for the first time. He's a bare 30 seconds into his first shift when he realizes how much more _intense_ it feels than any other game.

He's still trying to figure out why - division rivals? Pennsylvania rivals? Orange and gold just clash? - when, early in the second, he takes his sixth shift of the game and discovers that Crosby is also on the ice.

When he's back on the bench and can think again, mind racing, he can only think about Crosby. He feels like he's thinking a hundred different things at once, but they can all be summed up in one word:

_Fuck._

It's not exactly unreasonable.

\--

By the time the third period starts, he's had another shift against Crosby to clarify his thoughts and an intermission to enumerate them in.

1: Crosby is barely 5 months older than Claude.  
1A: Yet he's been an NHL regular since he was drafted  
1Ai: (and nobody forgot _his_ name),  
1B: Will probably play more minutes this game than anyone else on his team, including the defensemen  
1Bi: (while Claude isn't even trusted on the PP yet),  
1C: Is the motherfucking captain  
1Ci: (the youngest motherfucking captain in NHL history), and  
1D: He is so damn good, _holy shit_.

2: Crosby is unfairly attractive.  
2A: His face isn't even that nice to look at (unlike Claude's, which is pleasant and symmetric, if a little padded out with baby fat still), it's just weirdly compelling.  
2B: His mouth goes really crooked when he smiles, what even is that?  
2Bi: Speaking of his mouth, why is it so damned big? It looks like it belongs in a porno, Christ.  
2C: Also, what the hell colour are his eyes?  
2D: Two words: that ass.

3 - but he doesn't get to finish 3, because Crosby waltzes right in and puts the Penguins back in front, just minutes after Richie's line had worked so hard to tie them up and just minutes before the end of the game, and Claude gets tapped to play in the 6-on-5 just like he was hoping would happen. Crosby is even sitting for most of it.

The Flyers lose anyway.

Fuck.

\--

Three days later they're in DC and it's definitely not as intense. 

For one thing, the Caps keep committing penalties; the Flyers end up on the power play for fully one-fourth of the game. Maybe that would account for some of the pressure being off, except that Claude is suddenly thrust onto the top PP unit for no discernible reason, which is amazing but also terrifying.

For another, Ovechkin and Backstrom look untouchable for the entirety of the first 30 minutes. But neither of them feels as momentous as Crosby either.

Claude gets his fourth goal of the season but feels no more pressured to do well than he ever has.

So what was up with the Pens game?

\--

April 25, 2009 is the worst day of Claude's entire life. It's pretty fitting that the team they cough up a 3-0 lead to in a must-win game is the Penguins. It's even more fitting that he gets so messily drunk afterwards Danny gets worried enough to haul him home; when Danny leaves, Claude strips off and faceplants into his pillow, which is when Danny comes back with a glass of water and says, "I didn't know you'd met your soulmate. Why haven't you introduced us?"

"What are you talking about?" Claude asks into his pillow, but apparently Danny understands him anyway.

"You didn't know? It's on the back of your thigh," says Danny, who politely averts his eyes when Claude starts drunkenly contorting himself to try to see it. Danny was also being polite when he said it was on Claude's thigh, apparently, because Claude would definitely call that 'lower ass'. Said ass blocks most of the words; all he ends up being able to manage is " _-or a-_ ".

So he goes to dig up his sister's old digital camera that she'd given him as an excuse to buy herself a new one, manages to find batteries that'll fit it, and has Danny take a picture of his ass for him.

" _Not bad for a rookie..._ " his tattoo reads.

Fuck.

That could be anyone. He's played 42 games (plus playoffs) this season in front of thousands of people and any one of them could be his soulmate, if he does say so himself.

But what can he do? If he asks PR to try and find them then he's going to be inundated with fakes, and that would be a waste of valuable training time. If he tries to do it himself word will inevitably get out, with the same result.

And it's not like he couldn't date, anyway, but it's hard. Most people only want their soulmates, and the ones that don't mind that tend to be wary of getting close to people who haven't met theirs. He doesn't blame them, really. Who would want to take the risk that someone fate says is a better fit might come along and take their place?

And besides that... well, Claude likes women sometimes, but he's pretty sure he prefers men, and the stigma of that kind of relationship without the words to match might be too much for him. He's a professional athlete, and he has to consider the press, the team, the stupid shit Don Cherry might say.

But maybe he'll meet someone eventually.

For now, at least he has hockey.

\--

The Penguins go on to win the Cup. Claude goes on to drink. A lot.

\--

Time passes, measured in seasons and summers, by the people around him and the people who used to be.

\--

The Flyers are a mess almost his entire sophomore season but they make the playoffs and they keep winning and somehow they get all the way to the Finals off the last-place wildcard slot. They lose, obviously, but they were so bad for so long that just getting there in the first place honestly feels like some kind of moral victory. And it's buoying, in a way, the idea that they got there before and they can do it again.

So what if Pittsburgh lost to Montreal before they had a chance to meet the Flyers?

\--

He moves into Danny's house, playing street hockey with the boys and upgrading his grilled cheese skills. He moves out again when he realises how much he wants to be part of the family for real. It's not something he wants to talk to Danny about, really, and he knows he'll say it anyway if he stays. So he doesn't stay.

(Maybe they look at each other the same way. Maybe Danny's stopped staring sadly at his soulmate tattoo every time some sappy chick flick comes on. Maybe the boys would love to see him as a kind-of-stepdad instead of a brother-uncle hybrid. 

Claude isn't about to take that chance.)

\--

He moves in with Schenner. Schenner is a giant slob, but Claude can deal with that at least.

\--

Richie gets traded, and it's a shock, his captain and mentor gone just like that, and then Carts is traded too, and the weight of the entire team settles on Claude's shoulders. There's no other centre they'll put on the top line, and the bottom drops out of his stomach and his heart leaps uncomfortably and the sickness he feels isn't just because Richie and Carts are separated but because he, Claude, is suddenly the go-to guy.

It feels crushing and insurmountable.

But the Flyers have gone out and bought him a new mentor, and it's _Jaromír Jágr_.

Jags is quick on the puck and quick with a joke, and when he's done making Claude have a small hero-worship meltdown, he and Hartnell proceed to click with Claude instantly and, amidst the talk of a Hart he knows he's not going to win, the Flyers are back in the playoffs once again.

Playoffs sometimes have a way of slowing down time for him even normally, but these ones are going to feel like a thousand years:

They're facing the Penguins in the first round because Claude's life is a cruel joke.

\--

Pittsburgh scores the first three goals in the first playoff game. Claude was only on the ice for one of them, but it was the one that didn't involve Crosby, so he's counting it as a wash. Then again, he also takes a fucking boarding penalty against _Brooks fucking Orpik, of all people_ , so maybe he should call it a loss.

The Pens are still up 3-1 when Jags commits a penalty of his own. Claude comes out on the second PK unit and finds himself staring across the faceoff circle at Crosby. Half a second later he's lost the faceoff, chasing down the play with lightly stinging wrists.

The Flyers win the game somehow. Claude is only on the ice for the OT goal, and he can freely admit he had little to do with it, but he doesn't feel so nervous now.

\--

Crosby may score 15 seconds into game two, but Claude gets a hattie.

Yes, so does Couts, rookie though he is, and yes, the last one's an empty-netter, but dammit, it still counts. Anyway the second one was shorthanded and should probably count twice.

And his three assists mean he's set a franchise record for single-game playoff points.

Fuck.

\--

They score 8 again when they make their triumphant return home.

Niskanen pulls Claude's hair a little when he assists the first goal but Claude doesn't even feel it. The look on Crosby's face, the fact that it was shorthanded with Crosby on the ice, it all makes Claude feel a vicious sort of pride.

Crosby nicks his wrists again two faceoffs in a row and Claude's had it. A small scrum behind the net amounts to nothing and Claude peels off after Crosby, pulls in close to his weird attractive face, and starts trading insults, whatever shit he can think of. God, he just wants to punch him so bad.

At which point Crosby goes after Kimmo for some dumbass reason, and Claude is doubly angry, so when he goes to separate them and Crosby starts blindly going for him, Claude's ready to go there. Crosby has about twenty pounds on Claude, but he doesn't give a shit at this point.

He gets, like, one punch in before the refs break it up. But Crosby doesn't get any.

In the sin bin, he feels better than he has in a long time.

\--

Game 4. Claude scores the first goal, assists on the Flyers' second to tie it up. Half a minute later, Jake scores to put them ahead. The crowd roars, deafeningly loud and blindingly orange, and Claude feels the adrenaline rising, can sense how much they're willing him, willing all of them, to be better.

Then Pittsburgh scores _eight unanswered goals_. And Crosby's is the first of them.

God, Claude feels sick and tired and sad from the adrenaline crash. Worse, he aches everywhere, and the uncomfortable splintering feeling when he puts too much pressure on his right wrist is alarming at best.

But if he's being honest, he's more worried a fan will murder him on his way home.

\--

He looks like shit in the fifth game, and he's pretty sure Crosby's deliberately going for his left wrist this time, but they win it and take it home and just need this last one and then he can rest.

(Until the next round, his traitorous brain whispers.)

\--

They take it home one last time. Thirty seconds in Claude steals the puck from Sullivan and snaps it to the twine. Crosby doesn't even see the play coming.

He knows at that moment they're going to win.

\--

Crosby is annoyingly calm in the handshake line. Claude's not sure whether it's that or the pain in his wrist with every hand he shakes that bothers him more.

\--

The Devils look easy to beat after game 1.

The Flyers don't beat them after game 1.

\--

Claude has surgery on both his wrists. Afterwards, he says some dumb shit to the press about them. He sort of regrets it the second the words are out off his mouth, but by that point it's too late.

Crosby's response is _absolutely fucking infuriating_.

\--

The casts are glaringly white on his wrists in the dim light of this party, but they don't catch as much attention as his sick beer pong skills.

Probably he's trying to show off for the blonde he's currently decimating, but he's pretty sure it's unnecessary.

\--

Cornhole with the guys is better in some ways.

\--

When the lockout happens, Claude almost drunkposts on Craigslist except he doesn't even know when his soulmate saw him or if he saw them back.

(Also he accidentally clicks outside the text box and hits backspace.)

\--

Claude moves in with Danny again, but this time they're in Berlin and it's scary in a whole new way; he's alone in a foreign country with Danny looking at him, dark eyes bright in that terribly earnest face, saying "I love you" in a string of parroted hellos so that Claude has to say it back.

Granted it's one of about three phrases they know in German and they're not actually even alone in the car, much less the country. But still.

Claude can feel himself being swept along, swiftly nearing the point where he'll have to decide once and for all whether to get out of the river or face the waterfall.

He genuinely doesn't know which option he'll choose.

\--

The Eisbaren are fun, and Claude is just starting to be able to relax, get used to the dark blue, and think only about hockey when he gets hit. By the time they stop being afraid it might be a concussion, Claude is home, trying not to think about Danny's stupid happy face. Instead he reads every piece of lockout news he can get his hands on, hating Crosby for being in so much of it and wishing fervently that Crosby would just hurry up and save Claude's job already.

He hates that even more, having to depend on Crosby for anything.

He hates most of all the tiny feeling he has that says Crosby is actually pretty dependable.

Fuck.

\--

When hockey comes back, Claude gets named captain. He stands in a sea of press with a new jersey on. The C burns black against the orange, black as the words on his skin, and for a moment he feels desperately, desperately alone.

\--

But even with hockey back he doesn't feel any better; the team sucks, Claude sucks, the random wingers they seem determined to make work for him suck, his chemistry with Hartnell now sucks, Danny sucks, the entire d-core sucks.

Jake is good on Claude's line. That's about the only bright spot.

They miss the playoffs. It's Claude's first NHL season without them.

It's Claude's first NHL season as captain.

\--

He goes to Worlds, playing for Canada for the first time since Juniors, slightly out of place surrounded by red instead of orange (though he still has to wear a lot of hats). Simmer is there, and Duchene and one of the Schenns and Subban and both Staals and he's playing on a line with Stammer, for fuck's sake, but they're mostly being backstopped by Mike Smith.

Claude thinks he's a solid goalie, really, but the defense isn't really as elite as they could be. This Team Canada looks beatable and he has a bad feeling about it.

They go out in the quarters to a Swedish team with Enroth, of all people, in net.

\--

And then the Flyers buy out Danny.

\--

Danny goes to Montreal, taking with him any chance that Claude might one day have broached the subject of feelings.

Claude moves out of Schenner's, telling himself it's because of the captaincy.

It's not.

\--

Claude begins to lose any concept he still had of the finer divisions of time. There's the new season, measured in far too many losses and a continuation of the revolving door of wingers, in 3 games on the same ice as Danny and 3 games hating Flyers orange, wishing he could put on red. There're the playoffs, over far too soon. And then there's the summer, far too long.

The summer may also be measured in nights spent in an Ottawa police station.

Claude honestly can't give a shit at this point.

\--

Simmer is the one to talk him down, in the end. Some of the other guys had tried, but Claude had refused to listen to them. Simmer, though, is the kind of guy you have to listen to. He doesn't say shit unless he means it.

"Look," he says, sharp and very Simmer, and Claude looks at him. "Look," he says again, toning it down slightly, "you're a mess. You shouldn't be acting like a mess right now, you should be acting like the captain of the Philadelphia Flyers."

"You should be captain," says Claude, because Simmer really does have a lot of the captainly qualities that Claude lacks.

"I don't want the C," Simmer says, "and I sure as hell don't want to have to act like I have it and do your job for you."

"Oh," says Claude, and passes out.

The next morning Simmer makes pancakes, staring disapprovingly at Claude throughout breakfast until he apologises.

\--

The new season is better. Claude still leans heavily on Simmer, both on and off the ice, but he knows what day of the week it is and can feed himself good meals and play some damned decent hockey.

Their seventh game of the season is in Pittsburgh.

When it's over, Claude leaves CONSOL with 2 points. So do the Flyers.

Crosby doesn't get shit.

\--

Claude is in Colorado on New Year's Eve, playing against Danny. It's the first time in almost a year; it's only the fourth time ever. They're on the ice together for no more than two minutes across the entire game.

Claude doesn't feel the same way about that as he used to.

When he scores, it feels like a new beginning.

\--

The Penguins come to the Wells Fargo in January and play is much closer than last time; regulation ends with the teams tied 2-2. The game goes to overtime with the Flyers on the PP, though, and Claude is on the ice for the whole thing. They don't score, but 4 seconds later Pittsburgh takes a dumb too-many-men penalty and Claude finds himself getting a timeout pep talk like he and Simmer and Jake are going to have to go out there again.

They have to go out there again.

There are 8 seconds left on the penalty when Claude scores the game-winner.

He's never been more tired; he's never been more alive.

\--

By the end of January Claude is pretty sure they're not making the playoffs again, but he's comfortable with Jake and Simmer and his other more occasional wingers, comfortable with the weight of the team on his back and the weight of the C on his chest; most of the time he's even comfortable with the words on his skin and the sneaking sense of loneliness they can bring.

\--

With a little over two weeks left in the regular season and no real chance for the post, the hockey gods choose to fuck Claude over, because of course they do.

He breaks his stupid fucking home goal drought at last, which is nice, but then Streit throws a wild slapper in that hits Simmer at a bad angle and that's it. No more Simmer for the rest of the season.

It may only be two weeks but it's two weeks with two games against Pittsburgh in them. Claude can just imagine Crosby's smug face scoring a million goals, cellying with that crooked smile and that dumb fucking goose honk of a laugh.

Fuck.

\--

Crosby and his stupid face score the first goal of the game, sending the black-jerseyed crowd with their obnoxious signs into fits of joy. 

But the final score is 4-1 - and Crosby's goal is the one.

Claude doesn't actually accomplish shit, but Schenner scores two. In the room he pulls Claude aside to tell him they were for him, and also, he's making the guys worried, would he please stop staring at Crosby like that?

Claude has no idea what he means.

\--

Their fourth-last game brings the season series to a close. They're home in the Wells Fargo, Flyers orange all around them, and Claude realises if they can just win this they'll have swept the Penguins this season.

It's almost as good as making the playoffs would have been.

Again, Claude doesn't score, but he takes five faceoffs against Crosby and wins more than he loses.

He's also on the powerplay unit that scores three of Philly's four goals, making plays and keeping the puck moving. He gets one lone secondary assist to show for it but when the buzzer sounds on another 4-1 Flyers win he feels like he's got enough points to win the Art Ross twice over.

He can't stop smiling. Even Crosby's lack of apparent dismay can't ruin this for him.

\--

Because the Flyers miss the playoffs, Claude can go to Worlds if they want him - and they want him.

He's pretty excited - Couts will be there, and that Ekblad kid looks like a beast, as does MacKinnon, and Duchene had been surprisingly good in 2013 - until the Pens lose to the Rags and get knocked out in the first round. Because they'll also want Crosby. And Crosby will say yes.

Crosby says yes. Crosby also gets the C. Claude doesn't even get an A.

\--

Crosby's taking off his socks after their round-robin win over Sweden when Claude notices his soul words, a flash of black as he frees his left foot and heads to the showers. It's not a terribly polite thing to look at but Claude doesn't think anyone will notice him trying to catch a glimpse.

\--

The whole team goes out for drinks. Claude is older now than he was three years ago, more grounded, less childish, and Crosby is probably the same. He can at least try to get along while they're both playing for their country, no matter how he feels about the whole world's 'Crosby bias,' or whatever people want to call it.

Besides, Crosby's goose laugh is funny as hell, and Claude wants to make him do it again.

\--

Crosby is a healthy scratch for their last round-robin. Hammer takes his C and Burnsie gets the extra A, but Claude doesn't really mind that now. He's mostly just focused on the game now. Also Crosby, what with the whole teammate thing.

He's one of the last players in the room, reveling slightly in their 10-1 trouncing of poor Austria, when MacKinnon corners him and threateningly demands, in that ox-dumb, earnest, hero-worshiping way of his, that he leave Crosby alone.

Claude pats him on the head and tells him not to worry, wondering what it might be like to be idolised by a young player like that.

\--

He notices that night that Couts and MacKinnon are trying to keep him and Crosby separated.

Claude takes great pleasure in denying them, and greater pleasure in finally hearing the end of Crosby's "Flower and Tanger had a prank war" story. Crosby may not be the funniest guy, but he's a pretty good storyteller when the subject matter is other people.

He spends the rest of the night trading stories with Crosby, the two of them trying to outdo one another with humour, perpetually breaking off into fits of laughter.

\--

Their quarterfinal game against Belarus is easy.

Their semifinal against the Czechs may not be. Claude doesn't really want to have to beat Jake, especially not when he's the captain of the host team, but their path to the finals runs through him, and through Jags, and so Claude will suck it up and deal with it.

Smith wins the thing for them, and they go out to celebrate. Claude finds he's grown to get along with Crosby seamlessly, as though there's never been any bad blood between them, as though they don't play for cross-state rivals, as though they can be as friendly with each other as they are with everyone else.

He also finds Crosby's face just as weirdly compelling as he did the first time, all those years ago, when he was a rookie just dreaming of staying up.

Claude maybe gets slightly too drunk and tries to talk himself into Crosby's room, but Crosby is also slightly too drunk and says yes with very little hesitation. He falls asleep before he can actually hit on Crosby. But that's probably a good thing.

\--

Claude wakes up in the pitch dark with a full bladder and finds that Crosby is in bed with him. The room doesn't smell like sex, though, so it's probably safe for him to risk waking Crosby, get up and have a piss. As he rounds the bed, he notices Crosby's foot is sticking out from under the ridiculously stifling hotel duvet.

His _left_ foot.

Claude shouldn't look. He knows he shouldn't.

He looks.

Crosby's words are actually one word, written in a familiar chicken-scratch handwriting that he recognises as his even as he remembers that first overwhelming game and all the feelings he'd had about Crosby and the way he'd summed them up:

_Fuck._ says Claude's word on Crosby's foot, and he can't really think of a better word to describe how he's feeling right now than that.

\--

He maybe takes longer than he needs to in the bathroom. It's not how much he drank. It's trying to imagine Crosby's first thought about him being a compliment. If, after all this time, he's unrequited...

But the words - Crosby's words, he's almost sure - are in the context of hockey; no matter how much he hates the Flyers, it wouldn't have kept him from genuinely approving of Claude's play. So it's a chance he can safely take, if and when he decides he wants to.

\--

When he comes out of the bathroom, Crosby is awake, feet tucked under the duvet and looking like he's about to get all sanctimonious about their game later today and how they ought to be asleep, _alone_ , which Claude sort of wants to stop before it can get going.

"You know why I wanted to come back here, right?" he asks, and in the light leaking out of the bathroom Crosby looks like he hadn't actually given it any thought, like he's just now realising how weird it is that Claude is anywhere near him, let alone that they're in private.

"I assumed you wanted me alone so you could annoy me to death. Was I wrong?" Crosby says, lame as always with the chirps, but he neither looks nor sounds annoyed.

It takes Claude five steps to get to the bed, sitting down and reaching towards Crosby's face. He doesn't move, even when Claude cups his face in one hand and carefully drags a thumb across his cheek, just looks at Claude with his carefully emotionless media expression; but his eyes are warm.

"Giroux," he says, almost perfect, and Claude kisses him.

\--

At some point Claude ends up back under the covers, soft kisses and too-warm duvet lulling him back to sleep.

\--

He wakes up to yellow light through the curtains and Crosby going on and on about showers and breakfast and Claude needing to go get some of his own fucking clothes and put them on before he gets busted for walk-of-shaming. Claude's not really listening; he's mostly trying to remember when exactly he took his clothes off and what exactly he did with them. Crosby keeps his room pretty cold, which Claude liked when they were cuddling but not now that he's up and only wearing a pair of boxers.

Crosby is pacing the room and still talking when Claude gets down on his hands and knees to check under the bed. Crosby stutters to a halt.

"My eyes are up here," Claude quips. 

He's trying to decide whether it's funny or annoying that Crosby, man who got the booty, is apparently transfixed by Claude's nice but admittedly not monumental ass, when Crosby says, "That's mine."

"My ass is my own property, thanks," Claude says, irritated by the presumption but more by the fact that his shirt has apparently vanished into thin air.

"It's my handwriting, I mean," Crosby says with some kind of cheesy emotion like wonderment or surprised relief or joy in his voice.

"Yes, and mine's on your foot. Do you know where my jeans are?"

\--

After a short argument about whether Claude should be less of an asshole or Crosby should be less of a sap (and, more importantly, why the fuck Claude is such a slob and why the fuck Crosby can't leave other people's shit where they put it), they're only ten minutes late for team breakfast. Claude sits next to Crosby and listens as everyone else tries to psych each other up, eating in companionable silence other than when MacKinnon wants to talk to Crosby for what seems like an hour.

\--

"Let's light 'em up, Sid," he says when they leave the table.

The game isn't technically for another 10 or 11 hours but he knows Sid will take it to heart.

\--

They're already up 4-0 when Russia takes a delay of game penalty. Claude has an assist on that goal, the one Segs put home, and Sid scored the one before off a nice pass from Ebs; this power play isn't really that important, but they're putting the top unit out anyway.

Sid and Claude are on it together.

It's just natural that Sid should get the puck behind the net and pass it right across the face of the goal to Claude. It's just natural that Claude dips to one knee to show off when he shoots it.

It's just natural that it goes in anyway.

(It's just natural that Claude brags a little ( _a lot_ ) when he gets named player of the game.)

\--

When Team Canada returns home, Sid comes with Claude.

Claude almost dies laughing at the look on MacKinnon's face.

\--

When they arrive, Claude drags Sid into the kitchen and starts some butter melting on the stove. Thanks to his grocery service, he's got a loaf of fresh bread all ready to go, and plenty of cheese.

Grilled cheese is the best food for serious discussions.

\--

They're soulmates, sure, but that doesn't mean everything will automatically be sunshine and rainbows. They have to talk, maybe even more than other people because of their situation - the travel and the rivalry and all the bad blood they've had between them.

Claude's not 100% sure yet that he even wants to try. He finds Sid attractive, sure, and they get along well with other people around, but alone? And opposites may attract, but they're such different people he's really not sure it's possible for them to manage.

"We'll find ways to compromise," Sid says in what Claude now knows is his captain voice.

And, so help him, Claude believes it.

\--

Sid insists on taking a shower after dinner. Claude, as a human being and not a hockey robot, has been murdered in the face by jetlag and just wants to go to bed. So after Sid leaves, Claude strips off and faceplants into his pillow.

When Sid comes back, hair damp and smelling of Claude's shampoo, Claude is still not quite asleep.

"Can I touch it?" Sid asks, pointing to the words on Claude's ass.

It's very polite of him, and Claude appreciates it - really, he does! - but he's an asshole. So he looks at Sid and says, "My ass? Only if I can touch yours first."

"Deal," says Sid, and drops his sweats.

Sid's ass is huge and glorious and statues should be commissioned in its honour, all of which he apparently says out loud if Sid's giggle-honk is any indication. It lowers the tension, though, and when Claude pats the bed next to him in invitation, Sid joins him.

Claude doesn't want to go straight for the ass, tempting as it is, because he's a fucking gentleman who is also not awake enough to appreciate it properly. Instead, he kisses Sid as sweetly as he's ever been able to kiss anyone, relaxing in the feel of a warm body next to him.

\--

Claude wakes up surprised, mostly because he doesn't actually remember falling asleep. The rest of it is because Sid's not there with him. For a minute, he thinks maybe he dreamed the whole thing, but then he hears a clatter from the kitchen like someone opening the junk cabinet and all the shit in it falling out.

When he gets in there, Sid is stirring something in a bowl with the junk whisk Claude accidentally squashed in the door that one time and just never threw away.

When Claude gives Sid the new whisk and the skillet with an actual handle, Sid produces possibly the most delicious omelets Claude's ever had.

They eat them together; it feels strangely intense but so, so easy. The conversation flows, like it's normal for them to talk hockey and family and hopes for the future, to poke fun at each other without aiming to wound. Sid laughs as Claude winds up a story about his tooth, looking like he's waiting for the right moment to say what's on his mind.

He waits until Claude's in the middle of a bite before saying, "So I never did get to touch it."

Claude chokes slightly. Sid giggles.

Claude knows at that moment that they're going to be fine.

\--

(And they are.)

**Author's Note:**

> Any real-life game context mentioned is real, mostly thanks to @IneffectiveMath's hockeyviz.com, wherein he's collected game-by-game data dating back to the '07-'08 season.
> 
> I'm guessing this was not one of the envisioned uses.


End file.
